


Possibilities

by Satine86



Series: Parallels [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lyrium Addiction, Parallel Universes, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-04-15 11:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4605762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/pseuds/Satine86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What does it mean for the Inquisition when a new type of rift forms, bringing with it two familiar faces with questionable motives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vehlr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/gifts), [janiejanine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janiejanine/gifts).



The rifts started appearing three weeks after the defeat of Corypheus; three weeks after the Inquisitor's triumph. The first one to appear was several days travel from Skyhold. By the time word had gotten to the Inquisitor it was already too late, an entire village had been lost.

Evelyn had stood with her advisors, looking at the palm of her left hand. What could they have done? Could she had helped them? The Anchor was gone, no longer a glowing mark on her hand. How was she to close rifts without it?

As time wore on, more and more appeared across Thedas. But they were different than before. Instead of demons pouring out of them, they merely grew. Swallowing up villages and townships and destroying farmland. 

Everyone scrambled to find a way to stop them from spreading. To close them. Dagna, now the resident expert on the Fade, teamed up with every mage within Skyhold to find an answer. 

They worked tirelessly day and night searching for a solution. Calling for artifacts and old tomes and anything that might help. _Anything_. They thought they had found a possible answer, something to at least stop the rifts from growing. 

It was nearly two months after the first rift had appeared, that they set their plan into motion. An artifact recovered from the Exalted Plains, modified and augmented and suffused with magic. When they turned it on the explosion rocked Skyhold on its foundations. 

The Undercroft was left in ruins, only Dorian's quick thinking and powerful barrier kept himself and Dagna alive. Barely. 

The worst part was that it hadn't stopped the rifts. It hadn't worked. It hadn't done anything aside from a massive explosion. 

Or so they had thought......


	2. Chapter 2

_EVELYN_

 

The knock on the Inquisitor's door came in the early hours of the morning. Evie refused to get out of bed, and she would continue to refuse until the sun was at least cresting on the horizon. She smiled to herself with Cullen begrudgingly got up to answer the door, and rolled onto his side of the bed where it was nice and warm and smelled pleasantly of him. 

She could hear his hushed tones and he spoke with the messenger. She wondered if it was Jim? He always seemed to have the worst luck. After a moment the door shut and she was aware of Cullen's hurried footfalls coming up the steps. 

“Evie, wake up,” he said, already pulling back the blankets. 

“Unless Corypheus has returned, I don't want to hear it.” 

“You will want to hear this. Now up.” 

With a groan, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. “The sun hasn't even risen yet, how important can it be?”

Cullen was already getting dressed, barely stopping to spare her a glance. “I would wager it's very important.” 

“What's going on? Cullen, you're worrying me.” 

He stopped and took a breath. “That's part of the problem, I don't think anyone really knows what is going on. There was a flash of light at the encampments below the keep, a noise, and two men appeared.” 

“So magic? That happens, a lot.” Evie stood up, shrugging into her tunic. Unfortunately she was starting to feel more awake. “I mean that's basically how Dorian and I appeared at Redcliffe—OH! Is it time magic?”

“I don't know.” 

“Well, has anyone asked the men who appeared?” She frowned. “Who are they?”

Cullen stopped lacing his boot and looked up at her. “That is the concerning part. The men, as far as anyone can tell, are Varric and myself.”

Evie stopped with one leg trapped in her trousers. It was way too early for this. Maybe it was all a dream? Surely the fact she couldn't comprehend the words coming out Cullen's mouth meant it was a dream, right? 

“What do you mean they're you and Varric?” 

“I mean there are two men who apparently look exactly like us. The guards in the camp thought they were us, and when they realized they were not, the guards took them into custody. A few mages tried to discern if there were any spells, or artifacts to explain it. Apparently there were none.” 

“That they could find.” Evie finished pulling on her pants, and started searching for her boots. “What do they say?”

“They claim they are Varric Tethras and Cullen Rutherford.” 

“What are we going to do?” 

“I'm not sure, which is why I think it best we hurry and try to figure it out.” 

She didn't need to be told twice as she quickly yanked on her boots, and followed Cullen down the steps to the cells. 

 

* * * 

 

It was midday when Evie sat on the Inquisition throne, ready for judgment. Everyone had gathered in the main hall, the whispered rumors making their way around Skyhold. 

Varric and Cullen stood to her left, Josephine to her right. Guards were stationed about the room, and nobles milled around by the doors. Most of the Inner Circle had gathered as well, crowded either near the door leading to her chambers or the door to the ruined Undercroft. 

She had spent most of the day interviewing the men, and had ordered both Cullen and Varric away. Now they both looked rather green at the prospect of meeting their doubles. 

Even Josephine looked a little pale as she stepped forward, her clipboard held in a vice-like grip, and called for the prisoners to be brought forward. The doors opened and the men shuffled inside, flanked by soldiers and mages alike. As the doors shut, and everyone blinked away the spots in their eyes from the sun, there started to be whispered questions and audible gasps threading through the crowd. The men being brought forward could pass for Cullen and Varric at a glance. 

After spending the morning with them, Evie had learned to spot the differences. This Cullen did not have her Commander's carriage, a little hunched in on himself, and he was far more gaunt. He still wore the armor of a Templar, but it was in need of maintenance, scuffed and worn. The scar was different too. Not a slash above the lip, but a jagged mark running across his cheek. 

And Varric, the _other_ Varric, wore his hair a little longer, unbound save two braids at the temples. His face was grave, almost severe, but it had been impossible for her to tell if that was his usual countenance or if it was only borne of his current circumstance. When he noticed his twin standing to the left of Evie's throne, his eyes widened slightly. 

“Andraste's tits,” he murmured. 

“My thoughts exactly,” Varric replied dryly. 

After their exchange, silence stretched out until Evie could no longer stand it. She clapped her hands together loudly. “All right, has anyone got any ideas? Any explanation will do. Because all I can imagine is blood magic.”

The Cullen standing before her snorted incredulously, jangling his chains. “I can assure you, blood magic was not the cause.”

Evie was well aware of her Cullen shifting uncomfortably to her left. “You reek of lyrium,” he said slowly, as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. 

The other man swung his gaze toward the Commander. “And you do not?” 

“I do not.” Cullen took a decisive step back. 

“Cullen.. Cullens, _please_.” Evie pinched the bridge of her nose. This was confusing. Too confusing. “I don't know how to address any of you without confusion, so I need to clarify. You,” she turned to her left, “are Cullen and Varric. And you,” she addressed the men before her. “Will be Tethras and Rutherford.”

“I was thinking Scar might be a good name...” Varric trailed off at her sharp glare. “Fine. No nicknames.” 

“Can we go back to the original question?” Evie asked. “Anyone have any idea? At all.” 

“I think I do!” a voice piped up, near the doors leading to the gardens. 

“Dagna,” Evie sighed. “You're supposed to be resting.”

“That's what I told her. She wouldn't listen.” Dorian sighed, shoving his way through the throngs of people to create a path for Dagna. 

“Oh, it IS true,” she breathed when she caught sight of the men before the throne. She slowly trailed around them, casting looks back at Cullen and Varric every so often. “It's uncanny, really.” 

She stopped in front of them. “You have your own world, yes? With templars and mages and possibly the Inquisition and Corypheus?” 

Rutherford's jaw tightened. “Yes. We have those things.” 

“Do you know who I am?” 

“No,” was the curt reply from Rutherford. He cast an expectant glance toward his companion.

“Please, I don't automatically know every dwarf in existence just because I am one.” He looked at Dagna and shook his head. “Sorry, no.” 

“Oh, wow, this is astonishing.” Dagna was practically vibrating with excitement. Dorian stepped forward and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Perhaps you should explain your theory now?” 

“Oh! Right!” Dagna whirled around to face Evie, and held out one hand. “So we have our world. With all of us, the past, present, future, and the Fade.” She stopped and held up her other hand, parallel. “I think these men come from a world like ours, but different. One that resides right next to ours.”

“So... an alternate world?” Evie said slowly.

“Exactly!” Dagna brightened visibly. “When we turned on the artifact I think we somehow made a path or a bridge between our world and theirs.” She stopped, eyes going wide. “What if there's more than one? Think of the possibilities!” 

“Rather not, this whole thing already makes my head hurt.” Evie rubbed her temples. This was getting to be too much. 

“It does make some sort of sense though,” Cullen said, “and it explains the differences between us. I mean if you think of all the choices you've had to make in your life. No matter how small, they could affect things in countless ways. It's just strange to suddenly be faced with that reality.” 

Evie wrinkled her nose while she mulled things over, but really all it did was give her an even worse headache. Finally she turned her attention back to Dagna. “So if you think you know how they got here, does that mean you can send them back?”

“In theory, yes.” Dagna spread her hands. “But I would need another artifact, like the one we had before.”

“Of course, because nothing can be simple,” Evie moaned. 

The crowd started parting for a newcomer and Cassandra appeared among the nobles. “Ugh, the rumors are true, there ARE two of them.”

As she skirted around the shackled men to stand next to Varric, Evie kept her eyes on Rutherford and Tethras. The latter especially. The moment he saw Cassandra, his face went from one of guarded caution to open wonder.

“Cassandra,” he breathed and took a step forward, hand reaching out. The jangle of chains made him stop short, and he shook his head, coming back to himself. Though his gaze remained on the Seeker. 

“Varric,” she said slowly, brows knitting in confusing. “Why is he looking at me that way?” 

“Shit, I don't know, Seeker. I'm not him.” 

She gave him a sharp look. 

“Not the same,” Varric said. “There are alternate people or something. He's me, I'm him, but we're not the same.” He waggled a hand dismissively. “Ask Dagna. Or him, if you're so curious.” 

“Fine.” She rolled her before turning her attention on Tethras. “Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?” 

“Because I have.” He laughed weakly before continuing, looking grim. “Where I come from, things are obviously quite different than here. For instance, my Cassandra is dead.” 

That sent a ripple through those gathered. Cassandra looked quite stricken at the news. Evie had spent so much time trying to figure out if they were lying, what their plans were, she had not asked such questions. Now she regretted it. 

“How? How did it happen?” Cassandra asked. Evie looked at Tethras, the way his face fell, eyes drifting shut as he swallowed thickly. It was a sorry sight. 

“Maybe ask me another time?” he finally said, opening his eyes to look at Cassandra. “She died a hero though.” 

Cassandra nodded. “I am sorry.” 

“So am I.” 

“Yes, we're all very sorry,” Rutherford cut in. “But I would like to know what you plan to do with us.” 

Evie regarded him closely for a moment. “What do you plan to do while you're here?” 

“Nothing. I did not plot to come here. Besides, I'm hardly in any position to do much.” He lifted his manacled hands, face wry. 

“If I gave you access to the keep, what would you do then?” 

“I would make myself useful, I suppose. I do not do well with idleness.” He wet his lips, eyes pinched at the corners. 

“We have a steady supply of lyrium,” Cullen said, looking uneasy and refusing to meet the other man's eye. “You will be granted a small allotment, same as the other templars who reside here.” 

“Thank you.”

“A question though.” Cullen finally looked at Rutherford. “Why did you stay with the order and not join the Inquisition?” 

“The woman, the Seeker,” he gestured toward Cassandra. “She came to see me after I returned to Ferelden from Kirkwall. But I refused. There was still much work to do within the Chantry.”

“You left Kirkwall?” 

Rutherford swung his gaze toward Varric. “I had little choice in the matter after the Qunari ran everyone out.” 

“No,” Varric said. “The Qunari didn't take over Kirkwall, Hawke killed the Arishok.” 

“No,” Tethras echoed. “Hawke _died_ fighting the Arishok.”

As soon as the words left Tethras's mouth, Evie turned her gaze onto Varric. He stood still, looking at his feet while trying to process the information. She had been a fool not suss things out better, but she hadn't believed they were really who they had claimed be. 

“As for me,” Tethras said, drawing her attention again. “I have no agenda here, other than finding a really stiff drink.”

“Fine.” Evie nodded. “You will both be freed and given rooms in Skyhold, but you will not go anywhere without an armed guard.” 

“Inquisitor--” Cullen started but stopped himself, and shook his head when she raised an eyebrow in question. He motioned for the guards to release their shackles. 

“All right,” Tethras said while rubbing his wrist, “Where's the tavern?”


	3. Chapter 3

_CULLEN_

 

That evening Cullen sat at his desk, attempting to make sense of the documents that had piled up in his absence that day. Unfortunately he couldn't make sense of them, all the words seemed to be blurring into little more than tiny black smudges on the parchment. They might as well had been written in Ancient Elvish for all he understood them.

He pressed his thumb between his brows, hoping to stave off the headache that was building behind his eyes. What a morning; what a day. Perhaps he should just call it a night. He had already dismissed the messengers and runners, exchanged his armor for a cotton shirt and beeches. Perhaps a hot cup of tea and then bed would do him well. 

“Cullen?” He looked up to find Evie hovering at the door, hand still on the handle, face full of trepidation. “May I come in?” 

He let out a breath, offering a small smile. “Of course.” 

She returned his smile and entered the room fully, shutting the door quietly behind her. “Are you terribly mad at me?” 

“I'm not...” Cullen paused and rubbed his hands over his face, rolled his neck. “I'm not mad at you. I only wonder if it's wise to let them wander freely about the keep?”

“They're not free. They have guards. They'll be under watchful eyes all day, every day that they're here.” She moved some of the papers on his desk, sliding onto it with a practiced ease. Hazel eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at him closely. “Does it really worry you that much?” 

“We know nothing about how they got here. I know Dagna has her theory, and it's as good as any, but what if it's wrong? What if it's all a scheme, magic or demons or Maker knows what!” He tossed up his hands, and shook his head. 

Evie chewed her lip a moment, still studying his face. “Do you really not trust him?” 

“No,” he sighed. “I do not. And I don't think you should either.” 

She leaned forward a bit, head cocked to one side. “You don't trust yourself?” 

Cullen looked up at her askance, before turning his face away. “Don't make me answer that, Evie.”

Her hand, warm and gentle, on his cheek forced him to meet her gaze again. “I can't imagine what this must be like for you. So please, talk to me. Explain it.” 

He took a deep breath and stared at the far wall, as if he could see the man walking around with his face on the other side. The idea of that man... was repugnant, and for reasons he barely wanted to admit to himself, let alone to Evie. 

“I could be him,” he finally said, forcing the words out,“I could so easily be him.” He slowly shifted his gaze to meet Evie's. “I still have that inside of me.” 

“Oh, Cullen.” She slipped off the desk and onto his lap, her hands framing his face. “You are not him. That isn't you. That will never be you.” 

“His path though, is not so different than mine. If I had stayed in Kirkwall, refused Cassandra's offer. If I had done even the smallest things differently.” He stopped and closed his eyes, wet his lips. “If I hadn't had you. I could be that man down there. Gaunt, angry, losing everything about myself to the lyrium.” 

He opened his eyes again, but was unable to meet her gaze fully, so he focused on her chin. “It terrifies me, Evie.” 

She leaned her forehead against his, thumbs stroking his cheeks soothingly. “Why must you always see the worst in yourself?”

“It's difficult not to when the worst is standing before you, looking you straight in the face.” 

“Then forget about him. Because I don't see Cullen, _my_ Cullen, when I look at him. I see another man, a stranger. Because _my_ Cullen is strong and good and kind. My Cullen is a commander who leads his troops by example.”

He quirked a brow sardonically, “Examples in self-loathing?” 

“Stop it,” she laughed, dropping her hand to nudge his shoulder. He finally started to relax, wrapping his arms about her waist. It was amazing how she could always do that, get him to let things go. Somehow ease the tension from his shoulders. All by just being near. 

Evie pulled back and gazed down at him, face soft as she started ranking her fingers through his hair. “You're not the man you once were. You've changed and grown into such a wonderful person. I only wish you could see that.” 

He smiled, wider than before. “I'm not sure what I ever did to deserve you, but I'm thankful you ever decided to grace me with your presence.” 

“Oh, is that so?” She pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his chin. “And how thankful are you, Commander?” 

“Perhaps,” he said as he hooked his arms under her legs, replacing her on the desk. He smiled as he leaned over her. “It would be better if I showed you the level of my gratitude.” 

Evie laughed then, the sound bubbling up from her chest and spilling from her lips. It was a delightful sound, one he was certain he would never tire of. “I think I quite like the sound of that.” 

She stopped and lifted a hand to trace a finger down the side of his face. “Are you truly feeling better, or are you just pretending for my sake?” 

“No, I do feel better, and that's in thanks to you.” He caught her by the wrist, and pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand. “I love you, Evelyn.”

Smiling, she gripped the front of his shirt and pulled herself up to meet his lips. “I love you too, Cullen.” 

 

* * *

 

“Have you spoken to him?” Cullen asked Cassandra the next day. 

They were seated in the forge, sharing a small meal as had become their weekly custom. It had started as a way to keep each other apprised each other of the comings and goings of the Inquisition, and for him to update her on his struggles with lyrium. Though now it was more a meeting between friends than work. For that he was thankful. 

She looked at him, brows raised. “Who? The dwarf or the templar?” 

He snorted. “Either? Both?” 

Cassandra shook her head. “I saw V-what are we calling him? Tethras, yes? I saw him this morning, crossing the training grounds, he had that same awed look when he spotted me.”

“You didn't ask him about it further?”

“No. I fled. He...unnerves me. Though it is not in a bad way, it just is.” She made a noise in the back of her throat. “I do not know how to explain it.” 

“What about _our_ dwarf? Have you spoken to Varric?” 

“And say what?” She looked up from moodily picking at her food. “I'm sorry there is another man walking around with your face? Should I say that to you, too?” 

Cullen forced out a laugh. “I suppose there's not much to say, is there?” 

“Not for me or anyone else. I do think _you_ should speak with Varric though. It would do you both some good.” 

“I suppose you're right. As always.” 

“Of course I am.” She laughed for a moment, then sobered. “I must confess, Evie and I spoke about you this morning during our briefing.” 

“Yes, I'm sure you did.” He took a large gulp of his rapidly cooling tea. 

“Please know that we only did so because we care about you.” She reached out, patting his forearm gently if not a little awkwardly. 

He knew they spoke of him often, at first it had concerned him, though now it was an odd comfort. Having people who cared. “I know. I do appreciate your concern.” 

She smiled at that. “I do have to echo what Evie said. You are not him, Cullen. You left that life behind. You should not worry about the what-ifs. His life is not yours.” 

“I do know that. Logically speaking. But I can't quite seem to shake those thoughts. At least, not yet.” He looked up at Cassandra. “Thank you, for being here. You have been a good friend to me.” 

“That goes both ways, Cullen. I am glad for your friendship.” She jerked her chin toward the door. “Now go, talk to Varric.” 

“So bossy,” he groused as he rose from his seat, lips twitching. “You're worse than Mia.” 

“Perhaps if you were not so stubborn, I would not have to be,” she returned with a laugh. “Now go. Stop moping!” 

“I'll talk to you later.” As he passed her by he reached out and patted the top of her head, ruffling her hair. 

“UGH!” she cried, swatting him away. 

He was still laughing by the time he reached Varric's private quarters. Knocking soundly on the door, he waited until he heard Varric's voice granting entrance. Stepping inside Cullen found him peering out the window. 

“Oh. Curly. It's you.... right?” Varric squinted at him, brows furrowed. 

He huffed out a breath. “It's me if it's you,” he said, sitting down in Varric's vacant chair by the desk. “This is quite a mess isn't it?” 

Varric laughed. “You can say that again. So,” he drawled, sitting down on his bed. “What brings you here today?” 

“Cassandra,” he said. “She thinks we should talk. But really I think she's hoping we will decide to go talk to _them_.”

“Are you sure we can't just ignore the problem until it goes away?” Varric lifted his shoulders. 

“When has that ever worked?” 

“Approximately never.” Varric flopped back on the bed, hands covering his face. “This is bullshit.” 

Cullen snorted. “You can say that again.”

Varric sat up again, head downcast, eyes unfocused. “I think the problem is that I'm afraid I won't like him.” He lifted his gaze to meet Cullen's. “I mean it's possible, we're different people, right? Or would it be because we're _just_ similar enough?”

“I can't help you there, because I can already assure you I dislike my twin.” 

“Yeah, that's not surprising, Curly.” Varric paused. “Why us though? Why _our_ other selves? Why not another Dagna? Twice the brain power and innovation, I'm sure they'd have the world fixed like that.” He snapped his fingers. 

“It could have easily been another Iron Bull,” Cullen pointed out.

“Twice the ass-kicking. Twice the stories. Not necessarily a bad thing.” 

“... another Sister Patrice?” He eyed Varric askance. 

“Ugh, no thank you.” Varric's face turned sour. “Another Cassandra would've been fine though.” 

“Another Evie,” Cullen laughed for a moment, and then stopped. The full weight of that dawning on him. “Actually no, I don't think the world could handle that.” 

“You're right about that.” Varric braced his hands on his thighs and rose slowly from the bed. “Well, we're just delaying the inevitable aren't we?” 

“I suppose we are.” Cullen stood from his chair. “Do we know where they are?” 

“Well, if I know me, and I think I do.” Varric grinned as he started toward the door. “I would say the Herald's Rest is a sure bet.”

“Oh, and for the record Curly?” He paused with his hand on the latch. “I have no idea about that other Cullen, but I like this one just fine.” 

“The feeling is mutual, Varric.” He clapped his hand on Varric's shoulder before they headed outside toward the tavern. 

Varric's hunch proved right when they entered the Herald's Rest and found Rutherford and Tethras seated in a corner. Everyone in the place seemed to be giving them a wide berth, save their guards who hovered next to their table. 

The guards pulled themselves up straighter when Cullen drew near. He motioned for them to stand at ease. As they got closer to the table he noticed that Tethras was slightly more relaxed than he had been the day before, but Rutherford was just as sullen as ever. 

When he and Varric stopped next to their table, Tethras leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “I was wondering when you two would show up for a chat.” 

“Yes,” Rutherford said, looking up at them carefully. “Apparently we all have a lot to discuss.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with more sobbing Cassandra! (I hate myself)

_VARRIC_

 

The conversation with Tethras and Rutherford went about as well as to be expected. The Cullens were surly, glaring at each other across the table moodily while Varric and his double tried to find common ground between them all.

It was surprisingly more difficult than one would imagine. 

Varric and Cullen learned about the other world... the differences. It was bleak, hard, and devoid of most everything that had made their own lives so pleasant. Which was saying something, Varric thought. He had seen plenty of shit in his life. 

Eventually Cullen departed for work reasons, his face pinched and fists clenched. Rutherford followed shortly after, guard trailing behind. Leaving Varric alone with his double. Something he was still trying to come to terms with. 

His Maker damned double. How did any of this even work? 

They sat for a while talking about Kirkwall, about Varric's life. He told Tethras about his Hawke, the group, updating him on their lives. It was getting late when Tethras stopped suddenly, sitting a little straighter in his chair. 

Varric's gaze swiveled toward the door, and found Cassandra standing there. Tethras turned, his face lighting up, and waved her over. She hesitated, before crossing the room to join them. Tethras was quick to jump up, pulling out a chair for her. The action was not lost on Varric. 

“Won't you join us, Cassie?” Tethras asked. 

Varric nearly snorted his drink. Surprisingly, she didn't look like she was going to kill him. Instead she paused, looking at Tethras for a moment before finally taking her seat. Once he had settled in his own seat, she tilted her head. 

“Cassie?” She wrinkled her nose, but Varric could tell it was more out of curious amusement than anything. Something about the fact his double had a private nickname set Varric on edge. “No one has called me that since Anthony died.” 

Tethras stopped short, brows furrowed. “Anthony died? Shit, I'm sorry. I keep forgetting you're not her.”

Cassandra leaned forward at that tidbit. “He is alive in your world?” 

He smiled, “He was alive and well the last I saw of him.”

“What is he like?”

Varric sipped his ale, pondering what this meant. Her brother was alive. Or at least the other Cassandra's brother was alive. He looked at her, eager and yet not. He could see the tightness in her jaw, the slope of her shoulders. Of course it was interesting, but it was painful. He could get that. 

“He's a good man.” Tethras's smile was fond. “A good leader, good fighter. Fantastic drinking buddy, always has a good story to share.”

Cassandra smiled at that. An honest to Maker smile and suddenly, for some inexplicable reason Varric realized he was jealous. Of himself. He took another pull of his ale. 

“That sounds like my Anthony,” she said. “You and he are close then? Were she and he close as well?” 

“Yeah, I count him a good friend.” Tethras smiled again. “And yes, they were very close. He was always there to cheer her on, they both sighed up to fight together. Hell,” he laughed softly, “he was the one to walk her down the aisle.” 

“I'm-she-was married?” Cassandra sputtered while Varric choked on his ale. This was an interesting turn of events, and still that twinge of jealousy. She shot a glare at him over the table. “Don't you dare start.” 

“What?” he cried with fringed amusement. “This is gold! And a story I clearly need to hear. So tell me, Tethras, who is the gallant man that won the illustrious Seeker's heart? Was it a dashing knight, swooping in to read her poetry by candlelight?” 

Cassandra shot him another glare at his audacity, but he knew she was curious. Who wouldn't be? At least he was. What if they knew him? What if it was someone in the Inquisition. Fuck, what if she fell in love with him? 

His feelings for her were clear, had been for a long while. Her feelings for him were just as clear, and not as amorous. He knew that. They were friends, had been building that relationship for months, and that was all they would ever be. It was just jarring to be hit with that realization. 

Varric pulled himself back to the conversation, noting the way Tethras was glancing back and forth between them. 

“You're not...huh,” he said, mostly to himself. Shaking his head he regarded Cassandra. “That's the thing, it was, uh, it was me. Not quite a dashing knight, but I did read some poetry.” 

It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of water over Varric's head. That was unexpected. Of all the people in the world Cassandra – or someone _like_ her – had married him. Except it wasn't _him_. It wasn't even someone _like_ him, because suddenly all the differences between himself and Tethras were glaringly clear. 

Across the table Cassandra looked just as shocked as he felt, trying to process the information. Finally she spoke, “How long were you married?”

“A little over a year.”

“Oh.” She nodded. “When did she...?”

“Three months ago,” he whispered, face downcast. 

“I am so sorry.” She obviously wasn’t sure what to do. Hell, Varric wasn't sure what to do. Lifting her hand slowly, she reached out, hesitant, before laying it gently on top of Tethras's. He looked up, eyes going wide, before softening considerably. 

Then his free hand came up to cup her cheek. After a moment he yanked it back as if he'd been burned. “I'm sorry. I know you're not her, but you have her face. Maker, have I missed that face.” His voice was thick, hand shielding his eyes. 

Cassandra looked stricken, lifting her gaze to meet Varric's. While he wasn't sure what he could do for Tethras, he was certain he knew what _she_ could do for him. He nodded pointedly at Tethras, brows lifting as if to say, 'well, go on.” 

She patted the other man's hand, “Um.. how did we—how did you two meet?” 

“Under different circumstances than you two. We were discussing our worlds earlier,” he said, nodding toward Varric. “In my world, there was no mage uprising, no need for the Inquisition as you know it.”

“When Kirkwall fell, everyone fled. I lost contact with the whole group, but eventually there was need for an army. Need to fight the Qunari,” Tethras said. “I signed up immediately. I was angry, I'd lost my home, my friends, my entire life. So I figured fighting would be a good option; if I died, it wouldn't matter, I didn't have anything to live for at the time.” 

His face softened, eyes unfocused, lost in his memories. After a long moment he snapped to, gaze focusing on Cassandra. “She changed that.” 

“You must have loved her a lot.”

“I did. I still do.” 

Varric watched Cassandra's face, how it softened in such a way he had never seen before. He studied them, the look they shared. Then it hit him. The realization that while Cassandra couldn't love Varric Tethras as he appeared in this world. She _could_ love him as he appeared in another world. 

She could perhaps love his double, but she could never love _him_.

Cassandra still had her hand resting on Tethras's. “Can you.. will you tell me about her?” 

Tethras nodded. “Of course, what would you like to know?” 

“Anything. Everything.” 

The stories came freely, and Cassandra listened intently. So did Varric for a while. But when the tears inevitably came, grief welling up and spilling out, he quietly took his leave. 

It was bad enough being a third wheel. It was even worse when two of them were you. 

 

* * * 

 

He couldn't sleep. He couldn't write either; couldn't distract himself from this thoughts. So he sat at his desk, head in his hands while all his candles burned to the quick. 

Varric didn't want to be jealous, didn't want to resent Tethras. Not when his pain was so vast; not when Varric could empathize. That didn't stop him though, because he was jealous. Wildly, immensely jealous. 

Because Varric had always been second, always the one to give more and receive less. His parents chose Bartrand over him; Bartrand chose money; Bianca chose duty. Even Hawke... even Hawke never needed him as much as he needed her. 

And now he was playing second fiddle to own his fucking self. 

What kind of joke was the Maker playing at? 

Idly, he wondered if Cassandra was still sitting with Tethras in the tavern. Still bonding in ways Varric could never dream of, because Tethras knew her in a way he never could. He was startled when a quiet knock sounded on his door. 

He thought about ignoring it, but he could hardly hide the fact he was awake with so many candles burning. He rose from his chair and shuffled toward the door, shocked to find Cassandra standing there. 

“Seeker?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Varric.... I know it's late, but I wanted to talk.”

“I'm surprised, considering you've been talking for hours already.” He couldn't keep the bitter edge from his voice. Maker, he was a fool. 

“But I wanted to talk to _you_ ,” she stressed. “May I come in?” 

He studied her for a moment, she looked tired, drained, but there was a certain restlessness in the way she kept shifting her weight. Taking a step back, he opened the door wider, allowing her inside. 

She stood in the middle of the room, wringing her hands while he shut the door and shuffled back to his chair. Though he didn't sit. 

“What is it you wanted to talk about, Seeker?” he prompted when she didn't speak. 

“About him and her and _us_. It is all...”

“Fucking bizarre?” he supplied. 

“That is one way to put it.” She looked down at her hands, picked at her thumbnail as silence fell over them. “I am sorry, Varric,” she finally said. “I do not know why I came, or what to say. I only... I did not wish to be alone.” 

“I--” He stopped and cleared his throat. “It's fine. It's a lot to take in.” 

“It's not just that,” she said. “She's dead. She's dead and I'm jealous of her.” 

Varric wasn't sure what to make of that exactly, so he remained silent. 

Cassandra swallowed and wet her lips, glancing toward the window. “What kind of awful person am I? She faced obstacles I cannot imagine, and she _died_. But her life was still so much fuller than mine.” She stopped, pressed her knuckles to her lips, tears welling in her eyes. “She had Anthony to look out for her; she had a man who loved her deeply, and I am _envious_.”

Of course. She really was starting to have feelings for Tethras. 

“So you're saying really do want the poetry and candlelight?” He tried to distract from his own feelings, deflect them and lighten the mood, but his voice sounded strained to his own ears.

She swung her gaze to meet his. “I'm saying I want _you_ , Varric.”

That was not remotely what he had expected to hear, and he reeled back like he'd been socked in the stomach. _Holy shit._

The tears spilled over her cheeks as she continued on, “Because I have feelings for you. They have built slowly, but steadily and now I do not know what to do with them. Except when he spoke of her with such fondness, such _love_. I let myself hope, let my imagination get away from me. I let myself think that if he could love her, then perhaps you could love me.”

“But I am a fool, aren't I?” her voice broke as her face crumpled, the tears coming in earnest now. “She and I were different. She never did the things that I have done. She did not kidnap him, did not imprison him. She did not threaten and interrogate him. She was only ever kind and he loved her for that.” She stopped, choked back a sob, arms hugging her middle as she hunched in on herself. 

Varric stood rooted to the spot, her words barely registering. He was far more focused on the fact that she was sobbing. He found he could bear his own pain, but he couldn't bear hers. 

She took in a shuddering breath. “I am so sorry. For all of this. I should not have come here...” She lifted a hand, using the heel of her palm to wipe at her tears. “I'm sorry. I will go.” 

Casandra turned to leave and that finally spurred him into action. He reached out, fingers slipping around her wrist. “Wait, please.” 

She kept her gaze on the opposite wall. “You do not need to say anything. I know I am a fool. Please, just forget this happened. Tomorrow we will continue to be friends, and I will be happy with that. Please, _Varric_.” 

“Cassandra. Look at me.” 

Sucking in another breath she turned around slowly, eyes downcast. It took a long moment before she finally lifted her gaze to meet his. Her face was wet, her nose bright pink. She sniffed loudly and ducked her head again, unable to hold his gaze. 

Varric tipped her chin until she was looking at him again. “I was jealous of him,” he told her. “I was jealous because he had you in that world, and this one. The look you gave him, how gentle you were... His heart is broken in ways I don't want to understand, yet I was jealous. It was not my finest hour, I can admit that. But I was jealous because I love you.”

“Do you mean that?” she asked, a fat tear rolling down her cheek. He reached up, brushing it away with his thumb. 

He smiled. “Yeah, I do.” 

Her face crumpled again, voice barely above a whisper when she spoke.“But why, Varric? I have not always been kind to you. I have done and said things I am ashamed of.” 

“And I lied and forced your hand.” He stepped a little closer, hand still gently cupping her cheek. “We didn't have the best beginning, but that doesn't mean the ending can't be good. Besides, I could ask the same of you: why?” 

She sobered at that, leaning forward, eyes brighter. “Because you are you. Varric, you are such a good man. You are kind and clever and the best of friend to everyone you know. You love with your whole heart, you _care_.” 

“You forgot handsome.” 

She laughed softly, “and handsome. Very much so.”

“And you, Seeker, are courageous and just and a magnificent study in contradictions. Hard in some places, delightfully soft in others... or so I imagine.” That earned another laugh, and he smiled in victory. “Not to mention utterly gorgeous. Radiant even. Like a powerful goddess from on high, ready to fell any man with a single, piercing glance.”

“You make it sound like I am a character in one of your stories,” she scoffed.

“What if you were?” he asked with a wink. 

She started laughing but stopped when she realized he was not. “No... you cannot be serious.” 

Varric jerked his head toward his desk, her gaze following. “There's a rough draft of something over there. I might let you read it sometime.” 

Her face was full of wonder as she stared at the desk, curiosity obviously getting the better of her. Though, he had slightly different plans.

“Cassandra?” 

She turned her face toward him, a blush staining her cheeks. “I like it when you call me that. You say my name like it is a precious thing, something to be cherished... something beautiful.” 

“That's because it is, _Cassandra_ ,” he said, voice soft as he slide his hand to the back of her neck, tugging her forward slightly. “I'm going to kiss you now.” 

Their faces were close enough that Varric could feel her breath tickling his cheek. Cassandra swallowed, tongue darting out to lick her lips, and then his were pressed against hers. The kiss was slow, a caress.... a promise. When they pull back they were both breathless, and Cassandra rested her forehead against his, eyes shut. 

“Stay the night?” he asked. Her eyes snapped open, going wide, and he laughed at her renewed blush. “Nothing untoward. Just... stay with me.” 

She nodded, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. In moments he had the candles extinguished, the room dark save the soft glow of the moon through the curtains. As he settled back against his pillow, Cassandra tucked herself again him like she was made to fit there. 

She pressed her face against the crook of his neck, and he could practically feel her smile as she drifted off to sleep, one hand fisting in his shirtfront. He himself felt a certain sense of smug giddiness, which was something he couldn't ever remember feeling. 

Cassandra Pentaghast loved _him_.


	5. Chapter 5

_RUTHERFORD_

 

It was ridiculous. 

The least they could do was allow him to make himself useful, instead of wasting his days hanging around the blasted tavern or attempting to read in his room. 

Though he knew for a fact the Commander did not trust him. Which was ironic. Though he didn't trust the Commander either, so perhaps it was fair. The man had left the order, turned his back on everything he – they – had dedicated their lives too. 

What a fool. And a pathetic one at that. 

Rutherford sat up, eyes scanning the room. It was suitable enough, and they had provided him with books to keep himself entertained. He noted with a wry twist of his mouth, several were authored by Varric Tethras. 

He had to admit The Tale of The Champion was an interesting one, he did wonder how much was truth and how much was fantasy. It did give him a glimpse into this world though, and that... was something. While he knew they'd had their own hardships in this world, it seemed everything was far easier. That life was a little simpler. 

Unable to remain idle any longer, he rose from the bed and went to the door. His guard was ever vigilant, always watching. 

“I'm going for a walk,” he informed the guard as he strode out into the hall. Rutherford meandered down the hallway, through the gardens, and out to the training yard. The area was rather quiet, given that most of the soldiers were having their midday meal. That suited him fine, less people around to gawk at him. 

“Rutherford?” He turned to find the Inquisitor leaving the forge. She offered him a polite smile. “How are you settling in?”

“Well enough, I suppose.” He regarded her as she walked closer, there was a certain familiar thrum in the air and he realized something. “You're a mage.”

“I am,” she nodded. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” he said slowly. “Only curious.”

She eyed him for a moment. “Curious because I'm the Inquisitor? Or curious because I'm not trapped in a Circle?”

“I know of your 'rebellion', and that the Circles are no more. I meant more curious because of... him.” Rutherford jerked his chin at the tower he had learned housed the Commander. “I wonder... did he have a Kinloch Hold to deal with? An Uldred?” 

“If you actually spoke with him, you would know the answer.” She paused, obviously weighing her options. “But yes, he did.” 

“And yet he still ends up with a mage.” Rutherford turned his attention back toward the Commander's tower on the other side of the keep, realizing that his twin was even more of a fool than originally thought. What a pity.

“Do you honestly think so little of us all?”

Rutherford swung his gaze back to the Inquisitor. He saw no reason not to be honest with her. “I do.” He leaned forward, brought his face in close to hers. She shrank back slightly, and that gave him a bit of satisfaction. She didn't trust him. Good. 

“I would call you animals, but even Mabari are more noble creatures than you lot. The idea that any version of myself would freely give himself to a mage, to share their bed, sickens me. Although,” he tilted his head, eyes trailing over her face, amused that she grew even more uncomfortable. “I suppose if one were desperate enough, you have a pleasant face.” 

“Guard!” she roared, stepping away quickly. “Take him back to his room!”

“Oh, have I struck a nerve, Inquisitor? I do apologize.” He started to stoop for a patronizing bow, and the next thing that happened was not what he had anticipated.

Whether out of anger or fear, Rutherford wasn't sure, Evie's powers flared to life. His own reaction was borne of training, his body reacting quicker than his mind. The Smite caught Evie unawares and she stumbled back, reeling from the blow. 

Rutherford then saw his opportunity for freedom. His guard had taken a step toward the Inquisitor, leaving himself wide open. Rutherford kicked at his knee, causing it to buckle, and the guard fell to the ground with a grunt. Dodging forward quickly, he took the guard's sword and leveled at Evie before she could regain herself or summon a spell.

However, Rutherford stopped short when a blade pressed against his windpipe. His gaze slithered over the sword until he realized it was the Commander who was leveling it at him.

The Commander's eyes burned with malice, lips a thin line. “Do not move, because I will not hesitate to slit your throat.” He emphasized his threat by pressing his blade more firmly against Rutherford's neck. Rutherford bit back a pained hiss. 

“Now, stand down,” the Commander ordered. 

Rutherford dropped his blade, the guard scrambling to reclaim it. Another guard appeared from the forge and shackled Rutherford's hands. 

“Take him to the dungeons,” the Commander said, lowering his blade and stepping in close to Rutherford. “You've lost whatever bit of freedom you've had. As well as your lyrium supply.” 

“You can't do that.” Rutherford's jaw tightened. “I could die.” 

“You could, but I've a feeling if I can survive the withdrawals, so can you. More's the pity,” he ground out before nodding at the guards. “Take him away!” 

Rutherford watched as the Commander turned around and hastened toward the Inquisitor. He ran his hands down her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks. “Evie? Evie, I'm so sorry.” 

“Cullen,” she whispered, voice cracking. At that he gathered her in his arms, holding her close while her fingers dug into his fur mantle.

“Shh, shh. I'm sorry. I'm here. I'm sorry.” 

Rutherford had to bite back a disgusted snort at their display, he was certain his guards wouldn't take kindly to it. They yanked him across the yard, toward the door leading to the cells. He remembered it distinctly from the first time he had been locked away.

They walked down the long corridor, to the cold, dripping cells. The guards shoved him inside roughly, and he stumbled against the far wall. Once they had locked him inside he was left alone, in the quiet. In the dark. 

He paced the cell like a caged animal, fingers digging into his hair. He could not deal with idleness. He could not deal with the heavy silence. There were memories. Too many.

All because of _him_. It was all because of the Commander. Rutherford whirled around, fist making contact with the stonewall. 

 

* * * 

 

Rutherford was surprised, but oddly relieved when the dwarf came to visit the following day. For once he was a welcome distraction. 

“Well,” he drawled. “No need to ask how you're settling in.” 

Rutherford scoffed. “Have you settled in nicely then?” 

“No, I'm pretty much unsettled. All the time,” Tethras said, folding his hands behind his back. 

“Because of that woman? The Seeker.” 

Tethras nodded. “Yes, and no. Everything here is a bit unnerving, really. Though I don't see that as a reason to attack the hand that feeds, so to speak.” 

Truthfully, he didn't either. But what was done was done, and it had been a stupid, panicked moment. He decided to shift the subject. “They've had it easier here. They are far more prosperous.” And soft, but he wouldn't say that out loud.

“Yeah, it's good. I'm glad for them.” Even Rutherford could hear the bitter note in the dwarf's voice, see the wry twist of his mouth. Rutherford could understand his feelings, it was like a slap in the face to see them all so... happy. To have a constant reminder of what your life could have been. 

“The other dwarf, Dagna? Has she made any progress?” he asked, shifting the subject again. 

“Actually, yeah. She thinks she's got a way to send us back, and seal their rifts.” Tethras looked at him with narrowed eyes. “You were aware they have a rift problem, right?”

“Yes. I'm aware of their troubles.” Rutherford took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. 

“Withdrawals?” 

“It's fine.” He waved a hand. And it was, barely twenty-four hours without. Though the idea of what was to come was less than pleasing. “Continue.” 

“Anyway,” Tethras said. “She thinks she knows what happened the first time, and she wants to recreate it. We're in luck because some scouts found another artifact, so she'll be getting things underway fairly soon.” 

“Then we will be returned to our world?” 

“That's the plan.”

Rutherford tilted his head. “Are you fine with that?” 

Tethras drew himself up. “Yeah, I am. This isn't my world. She isn't my Cassandra.” He spread his hands. “I don't belong here, neither do you. I know our world is shit in a lot of ways, but it's home. Besides, we can still try to fix things.” 

“If you say so.”

“Look, Templar, you're not gonna do anything, are you?” 

“Like what? I'm trapped in here, aren't I?” He waved his hands, encompassing the cell. 

“I don't know? Who the hell knows what goes on in that lyrium addled brain of yours, just... just don't do anything stupid all right?” Tethras paused. “Well, anything else stupid.”

Rutherford snorted. “I shall try to refrain.” 

“Glad to hear it.” With that Tethras departed, and once again Rutherford was left alone in the dark with only his thoughts. 

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he received another visitor. The Commander strode in with his back straight, hand on the hilt of his blade. 

Pompous ass.

“Come to visit my humble abode? How kind of you, Commander.” 

“Good to know you've managed to retain our dry sense of humor.” He looked around the room, Rutherford wasn't sure if he was checking for security reasons or something else. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Still alive. Which I'm sure aggravates you.” Rutherford smiled, lips a thin line. “How's the Inquisitor? Has Amell recovered?” 

The Commander stepped in closer to the bars, eyes boring into Rutherford's, searching. “Evelyn,” he stressed, “is well enough.” 

Evelyn? Was that her name? He supposed it was. Rutherford ran a hand down the side of his face, wet his dry lips. 

“Since you're here, might I trouble you for some water?” 

Turning sharply, the Commander strode to the barrel on the corner of the room, dunking a wooden cup into it. He passed it through the gap in the bars. 

Rutherford downed it quickly. It hardly quenched his thirst, seemed to barely assuage the dryness in his throat. He wondered what else he had to look forward to when the withdrawals fully set in.

“It will pass,” the Commander said. “The headaches will come next. Then the chills.” 

“Ah, is that why you wear the ridiculous mantle?” 

The Commander's mouth twisted as he obviously fought the urge to reply. He shifted his weight and changed the subject. “Evelyn doesn't want you kept down here. And I... agree.” He glanced uneasily around the room again. 

“Am I free then?”

“Hardly. Not when you're a danger to the mages here,” the Commander said. “You will be moved back to your quarters and kept under constant watch. If you behave I might even restore your allotment of lyrium. Unless you would like to finally give it up?” 

“I'll behave,” Rutherford replied. 

“Have it your way.” The Commander studied him again for a moment, finally shook his head and started to leave. “I'll send the guards down to return you to your room.” 

“So magnanimous of you, Commander. How shall I ever repay you for your kindness,” Rutherford asked, though he didn't get a reply, the Commander disappearing through the door.

Rutherford stalked around his cell after his twin had left, a bitter taste in his mouth that had little to do with lyrium or withdrawals. He hated the Commander, he hated him in such a visceral way he could barely breathe. This life the Commander had... this world. It was not fair. None of it was fair, and here he was the one being punished. 

Sucking in a deep breath, Rutherford waited for the guards. Strewing in his hatred for his twin and plotting how he could make the Commander suffer like he was suffering.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg a new chapter. AMAZE.

_TETHRAS_

Taking in a deep breath, grateful to be free of the stale air that permeated the dungeons, Tethras thought he felt quite sorry for the Templar. He knew the story of what had happened, everyone – including the Inquisitor – agreed it was training, instinct, that had set him off. It was a stressful time, a stressful situation.

That didn’t make his reaction any better, but it made it understandable. At least a little bit. Or so Tethras tried to tell himself.

His guard hovered nearby, and he knew another watched from afar. He couldn’t blame them for the added security, not after what the Templar had done. It was a little unnerving at times, but no worse than being scrutinized by anyone he came across.

No worse than facing his twin…. facing _her_.

Speaking of Cassandra, he caught sight of her across the practice yard and his heart stuttered. He was quite certain he would never get used to it, to seeing her face again, never lose that thrilling bit of hope that blossomed at the sight of her. Or the crushing realization of the truth that soon followed.

He knew it was prudent to stay away from her, for his own sake. Yet he was drawn to her, hopeless and helpless. Just like he had been with his own Cassandra. So he let his feet carry him toward her, calling her name to gain her attention. She stopped halfway to the practice dummies, and smiled.

“Hello, Tethras.”

He came even with her, looked at her more closely. There was a change. It was subtle, a light in her eyes, a certain glow that seemed to illuminate from within. It was a look he knew very well. A look he had once been the cause of. But, he reminded himself, she wasn’t his Cassandra and he wasn’t her Varric.

“You look well today,” he said.

“I am well, thank you.” She inclined her head slightly, then her gaze drifted. Tethras followed her line of sight, and noted Varric speaking with one of the merchants in front of the tavern. When he looked back at Cassandra, the change was amazing, really. The lightness of her gaze, the small quirk of her lips. Even her stance changed, less guarded.

He’d always thought love was a good look on her. That hadn’t changed.

“You’re happy,” he said. She swung her gaze back toward him, flushing slightly. She’d forgotten he was there. He smiled at that, if nothing else it was good to see her happy.

“I am,” she agreed. “I do not know if it is proper, but I do not believe we would have… if you had not.” She paused and sucked in a breath. “I wished to thank you.”

“No need to thank me. We all know you would’ve gotten there eventually, at best I helped speed it along.”

“Either way, thank you.” She reached out, squeezed his shoulder gently.

Tethras shrugged when she pulled her hand back again, shook his head. “I shouldn’t keep you. I’m sure you have important things to do.”

“I will see you later.” She flashed a tight smile before moving past him. He took in a deep breath, the scent of leather, armor polish, and citrus following her. She smelled different, and something about that made his heart constrict.

Against his better judgment, Tethras walked over to Varric just as the merchant was leaving. Varric stiffened at his approach, his face turning guarded as he crossed his arms. Not that Tethras was surprised, he knew he would have done the same.

“So,” Tethras said lightly, “looks like things have changed.”

“Yeah, they have.”

“I know this is strange… my being here. I understand, but I just want…” Tethras stopped and ran his tongue over his teeth. What did he want? He wanted a great many things, but none of which he could have. “She’s yours now, and I hope you never forget to cherish her, all right? Never take any of it for granted.”

Varric snorted, shook his head as he laughed to himself, “Fine, make me into the asshole.” He lifted his gaze to meet Tethras’. “I can only imagine what you’re feeling, what you’ve been through. Truthfully, I don’t want to think about it too much. That said, I want you to know something.”

He stepped a little closer, voice low so that only Tethras could hear him. “She’s not your Cassandra, she’s not even _my_ Cassandra. She’s her own person and she makes her own choices, and for some damned reason she chose me. I know _exactly_ how fortunate I am.”

“As long you know it, that’s all I want.”

“I do. And if you, or anyone else needs me to prove that, then I’ll go to the chantry right now, thank Andraste and the Maker. I’ll thank the Creators and the Forgotten Ones. Shit, I’ll even go find a rock and thank the fucking Stone because I know I’m a lucky bastard. I don’t need you here–”

“As a living, breathing reminder than you could lose her.” Tethras shrugged, “I get it, believe me.” 

He wished he didn’t. He wished he never knew that lose. Then he realized the reason why he’d come over to speak with Varric in the first place, why he felt the need to warn him: he was jealous.

Varric cleared his throat, nodded slowly. “Right. So the thing is, you can be nice and polite, and I’ll be the selfish asshole. I don’t care. Because the fact remains I don’t want you around.” 

“Fine, I’ll keep my distance from you.”

There was a heavy moment of silence as Varric looked at him, studying his face. Tethras did the same, noting every minor detail that was different. Taking it all in. The shorter hair, tied back. The broken nose whereas his was straight. They might have been the same in theory, but they were vastly different people.

Cassandra was different too.

That bore repeating to himself. _This_ Cassandra was different.

“Thank you,” Varric said finally. They were interrupted when Cassandra appeared suddenly, as if summoned by his thoughts, looking apprehensive.

“Dagna,” she said, “has a plan. There is to be a briefing shortly.”

There was a strained silence between them after she spoke, and Tethras was the one to break it. “Shall we then?” he asked, clapping his hands together. Cassandra nodded, leading the way.

The briefing was held in the war room, everyone of importance gathered. Except the Templar, but Tethras couldn’t really begrudge them that. While Dagna rattled off information, obviously excited, Tethras couldn’t keep his gaze from drifting toward Cassandra.

She stood next to Varric, and they both affected such a casual, easy air. At a glance it seemed they had fallen in line together by accident. He knew better though. He could see how her arm barely brushed his, the way their fingers nearly touched, the war table hiding the closeness.

He envied them; envied Varric.

“So, we’re trying this?” the Inquisitor asked, rubbing at her neck.

“It seems the best option we have at the moment,” the mage – Dorian – said. “We can control it better, turn the artifact on at a safe distance from Skyhold.”

“Will that affect things though? If the location is different?”

“I don’t think it will. I believe it’s only the wards that affect it,” Dagna cut in. Tethras wondered if she was ever daunted. “This time with the new modifications, I believe it will seal the rifts.”

“And open another bridge to Tethras and Rutherford’s world?”

Dagna cast Tethras a quick look before turning a strained smile on the Inquisitor. “In theory? Yes.”

“It sounds like a longshot, and far too convenient.” The Inquisitor frowned, brows drawn together in thought.

“It’s…. it’s the only option we have right now. We’ve researched everything.” Now it seemed that Dagna finally faltered, Tethras thought, a certain wariness creeping onto her face. Proof that everyone had their limits.

“Well,” he said, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “It’s worth a shot, either way, right? You need to close those rifts, regardless. If this might do that, it’s worth it. If the Templar and I are stuck here? Well, we’ll just have to learn to deal with it.”

He could feel Cassandra and Varric’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look over at them. Instead he kept his gaze focused on the Inquisitor. She stared at him for a long moment, before finally taking in a deep breath.

“All right,” she sighed, “everyone get ready.”

* * *

Two days later they gathered below Skyhold, far from the camps that dotted the mountainside. The troops and followers and merchants all evacuated, sent away to keep them safe. Only a small contingent of guards and mages were present, peppered around the plateau Dagna had deemed suitable.

Tethras saw the Templar shuffle forward, shackled and angry, casting dangerous glances toward his twin. He wanted to warn him, tell him that it wasn’t worth it. But the Templar was shoved across to the other side of the field, the other side of the artifact, and Tethras had no chance to speak with him.

It probably wouldn’t have done any good anyway.

Once everyone was settled, barriers went up and ringed the artifact to protect those gathered, everyone holding their collective breath as they waited. Dagna stepped forward and turned it on.

Then the world exploded.

The ground shook as a wave of magic flowed from the artifact, eliminating the barriers surrounding it. People scattered and scrambled, hoping to find safety. The mages acted quickly, erecting new barriers around everyone, pouring every ounce of power they had into them. A howling wind whipped outside the barriers dotting the field, toppling trees in the distance.

Tethras looked around, the funnel of magic stemming from the artifact couldn’t cause that much damage. That was when he saw it. Just beyond them, one of the rifts they were trying to eliminate had blinked into existence. It was a giant black maw, ready to swallow up the world. He could see it already eating up bushes and trees as it expanded outward. Toward them.

“We need–” Dagna yelled behind him, her voice full of panic. “We need to shut it off before more appear!”

“How do you suggest we do that?” Dorian grunted, as another wave of magic radiated from the artifact. “I can barely manage to keep a barrier up at this distance, any closer and it will fail.”

“I’ll go!” Dagna yelled. “This is my fault. I’ll fix it.”

“And what happens then? You’re sucked up by the black rift? Sent to Maker knows where, or worse?” Dorian paused, the barrier encasing them flickering against the barrage from the artifact and the rift. “We need another way, Dagna!”

“I’ll go,” Tethras said. Dagna whipped her head around, eyes wide. Dorian’s brow only furrowed a little deeper.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Dagna said. “I was the one who sugges–”

Tethras shook his head. “You’re important, we all know that. Your mind is needed to fix all this. I’ll go, I’m the most expendable person here.”

“Don’t you dare say that!” Cassandra growled, stepping around Dorian. Tethras hadn’t realized she’d remained in their group. He felt abashed, unable to meet her gaze.

So he shrugged, glanced to the growing rift. “It’s true, though. I don’t belong here. Besides, it might send me home. Right?” He looked at Dagna.

“I don’t… I don’t know?” She bit her lip, shook her head. “There’s obviously something there, surrounding the artifact. But I don’t know what it will do, what will happen. Or if you’ll even make it that far.”

“Well, either way,” Tethras said. “It makes the most sense. No one else out there knows this has to happen. Dorian can’t go… Dagna can’t go–”

“I can,” Cassandra said and pulled herself upright. She looked down at him with that cold determination that used to annoy the ever-living shit out of him, but now it only made his heart ache. She’d had the same look–no, he wouldn’t let that happen. Not again.

“I’m not letting you go, Cassie. You have.. you can’t leave him behind, all right? I won’t let that happen. You _have_ to stay.” 

“I will not sit by idly and let you risk your life for us!” She tossed her hands into the air. “This is not your responsibility.”

“Maker take you, Cassandra!” he cried. “Can you not let me do this one thing? Can you not let _me_ save _you_? It’s only fair. You died last time, I can’t let that happen again.” His shoulders slumped, and he tried to ignore the dull ache in his chest. Instead he focused on Cassandra, who was looking at him with someone akin to pride.

“I.. she… risked her life? For you?”

“Yeah, she did.” He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to remember her face…. or the blade that had been meant for him and how it had lodged itself in her stomach. He almost imagined he could still feel her blood staining his hands. He shook himself. 

Tethras stepped in close to Cassandra, reached up slowly to cup her cheek. She wasn’t _his_ Cassandra, she never would be, but he found he loved her all the same.

“Let me try to keep you safe, huh? Give me that much?”

She was rooted to the spot, simply staring at him while tears welled in her eyes. He offered her a tight smile, then rocked up onto his toes and pressed his lips against hers. He was surprised when she returned the kiss.

He pulled back after a moment and turned on his heel. He cast her one last once over his shoulder, hoped to sear that picture into his mind. _That_ would be how he remembered Cassandra Pentaghast, alive and proud and deeply loved by Varric Tethras. 

Without a word, he tore his gaze away from her and walked out from the barrier.


	7. Chapter 7

_CASSANDRA_

 

Tethras's lips were gentle as he kissed her. Cassandra kissed him back, mostly because she wasn’t sure what else to do. It was sweet, oddly chaste. Before she could really process anything further he was pulling away, his face fond and determined. 

The next thing she knew he was gone, walking out from the barrier, into the raging storm of magic and Maker knew what else. She couldn’t see him through the cloud of dirt and debris whipping around the clearing. The fact she had no idea what was happening set her on edge. 

Then there was an explosion, more powerful than what had rocked Skyhold. More powerful, she deemed, than had struck the Conclave. The magic rolling out from the artifact hit their barrier, and Dorian was unable to keep up against the barrage. They were hit with the force of the explosion, all of them stumbling back, falling to their knees. 

It took a moment for Cassandra to gain her senses again, to catch her breath. Blinking to clear her vision everything started to come back into focus. The area started to clear, the dust and smoke and magic dissipating. 

Cassandra stared at the clearing in awe, scrambling to her feet. Everything was gone. The rift, the artifact…. Tethras. He had risked his life to fix their mistake. 

The realization hit her like a war hammer to the chest and she sank back down the ground, her legs unable to support her. Tears pricked her eyes, hot and stinging, making the world shimmer in front of her. 

“It.. it worked?” Dagna said behind her, voice full of confusion. “It’s closed. They’re closed…?”

Cassandra couldn't listen to Dagna and Dorian as they started rambling about the outcome, about what this all meant. The hopeful possibilities that their world was safe again. She only knew one thing: Tethras was dead. 

Of that she was certain. 

The ache was dull, but no less real. 

He had sacrificed himself for them… for _her_. 

Her mind reeled, Varric had—no, she reminded herself. Not her Varric. Cassandra's heart lurched and she _had_ to find him. She had to touch him and smell him and make certain that he was alive and whole.

Varric had to be safe. 

Scrambling to her feet, Cassandra’s gaze swept the surrounding area, taking it all in like she would a battlefield. In a way, she supposed it was. Bushes and trees gone, the ground eaten up and jagged in spots where newly exposed rocks jutted up. The force of the rift, of the magical blast from the artifact was astonishing. 

Men were down, injured after the other barriers have failed more quickly than Dorian's had. Luckily there were healers among the mages, tending the wounded. Cassandra didn't see Varric among them. Her heart constricted as if trapped in a vice, and her feet carried her forward. 

She ignored those around her, some simply dazed, others asking for assistance. She had no time, no thought in her head except finding Varric. 

“Varric!” she called. Her voice sounded strained, she thought, far away sounding. There was no reply. She called again, this time choking on her tears. When had she started crying in earnest? She swiped at her face, trying to clear her vision. 

“Maker’s ass, that was _not_ what I expected.” Varric's voice sounded to her right. He sounded pained, but he was alive. Cassandra whipped her gaze around, saw Varric shaking himself like a wet mabari, and bolted straight for him. 

Heedless of the presence of others, heedless of anything other than her overwhelming relief at the fact he was alive, she all but flung herself at him. Varric caught her just in time, stumbled back a step, and then they sank to the ground together. 

Cassandra hugged him tightly for a long moment before pulling back enough to look at his face, to check him over. He appeared uninjured and she let out a grateful sigh, fingers trailing gently down the side of his face. 

“Seek–shit, are you crying? What’s wrong?” He cupped her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks as he forced her to meet his gaze. 

She shook her head, not trusting her voice. Instead she leaned toward him, rested her forehead against his. He was alive. He was here and he was okay. She kept repeating that to herself as she clung to him. Varric was worried and confused, she knew, but he graciously kept quiet, gently comforting her while she gathered herself. 

“It's all right, Cassandra,” her murmured into her hair. “You're all right.” 

“And so are you,” she whispered.

He untangled himself enough to meet her gaze, his brows knitted tightly together. Whatever he was about to say was lost over a shouted curse, and a distressed cry that sounded like Evelyn. Together Cassandra and Varric turned to see Rutherford with his shackles around the Inquisitor's neck, using her as a shield. 

Rutherford backed away from Cullen and the soldiers, all of whom had drawn their swords. The mages nearby were rendered useless after a particularly nasty Smite from Rutherford. 

“You will let me leave, and I will let her live,” he said. 

Cullen grit his teeth, eyes flashing as he motioned for his men to stand down. “You have my word,” he ground out. “If you let her go, no harm will come to you.” 

Rutherford turned his gaze on Cullen, snorted as he pulled the chains a little tighter around Evelyn's neck. She clawed at his hand, the chains, to no avail. “Now we both know you do not intend to keep that promise, Commander. I will take Evie with me as a safeguard against any of your more noble intentions. You will not follow.” 

“Cass--” Varric said as she scrambled to her feet. She paid him no mind as she marched toward Rutherford.

Cullen called her name as well, a warning. Again she did not heed his words. Instead she fixed Rutherford with a piercing glare, stopping a few paces away from him. 

“Tethras is dead. Do you know that? He died to save us all.” 

Rutherford's jaw tightened, but otherwise remained uncaring. “He was a fool. I have always known that.” 

“He was a braver man than you,” Cassandra said. She shook her head. “Stop this, please. I cannot let you hurt the Inquisitor, and I would not see any more suffering this day.” 

“Then let me go. I'll leave her for you to find.” 

“Why do you wish to go so badly? Are you so intent on dying in a gutter with lyrium clutched in your hands? Because that is the fate that awaits you.”

“I wish for freedom. This is a new place, and a new chance. It is the least I deserve.” Rutherford glanced toward Cullen. “I have had nothing, you have had everything.” 

“You think my life has been easy? We have all had our hardships, you are not special in that regard.” Cullen took a step forward and Rutherford tightened his grip on Evelyn again. “If you stop this now. I swear no ill will come to you.” 

“How can I trust any of you?” Rutherford's eyes were wild, darting around the clearing. He took a step backward, yanking Evelyn with him. 

“I would listen to Cullen,” Cassandra ground out. “Listen to him because I swear to you, if you take one more step, you will know pain like you have never felt before.” 

He scoffed, took another step. “And what will you do, attack me? What might happen to your precious Inquisitor then, _Cassie_?” 

Cassandra felt a certain calmness wash over her, cold determination. It was a feeling she did not particularly like, and one she had not felt in so long. She looked at Rutherford intently, everything else melting away. 

“I am Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of Truth, and I will set the lyrium in your blood aflame.” She took a step forward and then another, gratified when Rutherford remained rooted where he stood. “I will have you will burn from the inside out. Do not test me, Rutherford. Not now, not ever.” 

She stopped before him, reached out and pulled his shackled hands away from Evelyn's neck. She stumbled away, toward Cullen, choking and gasping for breath. 

The soldiers swarmed them, grabbing Rutherford roughly and securing him anew. Cassandra watched blandly as they yanked him away. She turned to find Evelyn clutching at Cullen, face buried in his fur mantle. For his part, Cullen looked torn between relief and the need to retch. She could not blame him. 

“Cassandra?” she turned to face Varric, almost embarrassed. His face was soft as he reached out for her hand, his fingers curling around hers. “Let's get you back to the keep?”

She nodded, letting him lead her up the winding path back to Skyhold. 

They passed by Dagna and Dorian, investigating the area where the artifact had been placed. Where Tethras had died. Cassandra felt her heart lurch. Without a word, Varric hurried her along, offering his silent support. 

 

* * * 

 

In the following days, word started coming in that the strange rifts were closed. Which was a welcome relief for Skyhold after everything.

Cassandra sat in the gardens with Cullen, they had started a game of chess but it had since been abandoned. Neither of them feeling particularly focused on the outcome. They had moved to a bench near the Chantry door. Silence weighed on them both, there was much to discuss, but the words were not easy to find. 

“Have you made a decision?” Cassandra asked at length. 

Cullen sighed. “Evie wants to grant him mercy, show him pity. I am of a different mind.” 

“I am not surprised, he is a troubled man. Of course she would want to spare him.” 

“I don't think it's that simple, Cassandra.” Cullen pressed his lips together, ran a hand through his hair. “If he were a different person, if he did not have my face, I feel her reaction would be different.”

“Could not the same be said for you? If it were another man, another templar who had lost himself to lyrium, wouldn't you be kinder?” 

“I don't know? The fact still remains: he attacked the Inquisitor. Twice. Likely would have killed her, if people had not intervened.” He paused, staring at his feet for a moment before lifting his gaze to Cassandra's. “People have died for lesser crimes. Is it the just thing to put him to death? I don't know, but I think it is what we have to do.” 

“It is not an easy decision, that much is clear. Though in the end, it rests with Evelyn. We can only hope she will do what is right.” Cassandra laid a hand on Cullen's arm, reassuring. “How is she doing?” 

“Surprisingly well. Then again, she's always been resilient. What of Varric?” 

“I think he is doing well. Sometimes it is difficult to tell with him.” She smiled ruefully. 

“He has you, though. That must help.” 

Cassandra shook her head. “I hope that it does. I am not certain it is enough sometimes.” 

It was Cullen's turn lay a reassuring hand on her arm. “It is. Trust me. Anyone with two eyes can see the way he lights up when you're near. It's clear to me, and I've been told many times that I can be quite thick.” 

“You sell yourself short,” Cassandra laughed.

“No, I am merely honest.” He sighed. “Do think that was the point of it all? For you and Varric to be together?”

“Tethras said it would have happened eventually, it was only a matter of time. That his presence only moved things along more swiftly. I am inclined to agree with him. My feelings for Varric were not easily dismissed.”

Cullen nodded. “Well, that's something you can take away after everything. I am not so sure what I can take from my experience. I only wish there was some sense to make of it all.” 

“Perhaps,” Cassandra said slowly. “All we can take from this is the realization that all of our lives hold endless choices, endless possibilities. And to hope we have the courage to make the right choices, no matter how difficult.” 

“That is a more… positive thought that any I've had.” 

Cassandra looked at Cullen askance, lips turned upward. “I can be an optimist sometimes.” 

“Well, it's been enlightening as always.” He smiled at her. “I am happy for our chats.” 

“As am I, my friend.” 

Cullen's gazed focused on something in the distance, and he started to rise slowly from his seat. “Though I am also happy to leave you in the care of a certain dwarf. Perhaps I should go find Evie, remind her how much I adore her?”

Cassandra smiled. “I think that is the right choice, Cullen.” 

He laughed and clapped a hand on her shoulder before taking his leave. “Varric,” he said as they drew even.

“Curly,” Varric replied with a nod. Stopping next to Cassandra, he pressed a kiss to her temple then took the seat Cullen had vacated. “I'm not interrupting anything, am I?”

“Never.” She reached out and took his hand. “We were merely discussing all the recent events.” 

“Mmm,” he hummed. “There's a lot to discuss.”

“That there is.” 

There was a long stretch of silence before Varric spoke. “Do you think he really is…?” 

“Yes.” She met his gaze. “I am not certain how I know, but I do.” 

“I hope he's with her,” Varric said.

“Do you think he is?” She gripped Varric's fingers a little tighter. He squeezed back. 

“If anyone deserves to be at the Maker's side, it's him. Besides, if his Cassandra is anything like you, I can't imagine she'd let him go without a fight.” 

Cassandra gave a watery laugh, scooting herself a little closer. “Varric?” 

“Yeah?”

“I would always choose you.” 

He tilted his head in confusion, studied her for a moment before he replied, “I'd always choose you too.” 

“Good.” She smiled gently before leaning forward and kissing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you for reading! I so very much appreciate all the comments, and I hope you enjoyed it!


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